Demonic Betrayals
by TemplarOfSequence
Summary: The Kingdoms of Daromin and Wargath are at war. Wargath has mysteriously obtained the aid of demons and underlings. Daromin dispatches a mercenary group to investigate, and possibly stop, the demonic disturbance before it's too late. More to come.
1. Cries of War

It has been four days now since the battle started. Battle cries and the clash of metal once again filled the air. The hot afternoon sun beat down on the soldiers. The dead and the wounded continue to amass as the two warring kingdoms clashed on the plains of Antareth. Mighty lords and renowned heroes died as they clashed steel to steel, magic to magic, mind to mind. Strategies and tactics were abandoned, proving useless against sheer numbers. It has come down to this: a brutal battle in a head-on clash. Death and despair was everywhere.

Friends wept for friends as allies fell in battle. Cries for help and assistance was never-ending as sons wept for fathers, fathers wept for sons. In moments, lifelong friendships were destroyed by the quick stroke of a sword… in seconds, lives were torn apart. The fields were scattered with bodies; humans, elves, halflings, giants, death claimed them all. Lives, thoughts, hopes, memories, they were all consumed by the eternal wasteland, a place of no escape.

Of course, there were those stronger than others, more talented. Experienced swordsman wove their way through ranks of armored troops, their glistening swords striking through armor and steel, tasting blood. Wizards and sorcerers wiped out fields after fields of soldiers, themselves eventually dying to assassins, archers, or other spellcasters. Psionics locked themselves into psychic battles, where more than their dignity and powers were at stake. Their lives, as well as the lives around them were placed in danger as they fought world-shaking and mind-twisting battles.

A enormous half-giant fought alongside a heavily armored paladin. Their weapons were tainted with blood as they continued to fight the hordes of armed soldiers. Allies fell alongside them as they fought to keep their ground, pressed hard to stand their ground. The half giant parried lances and spears with his greatsword, roaring with fury as he slashed apart spears, arms, heads. They were all the same to his thirsty blade. The paladin, his warhorse having perished hours ago, swung his glistening longsword with fierce accuracy, parrying arrows and attacks with his heavy steel shield. His heavy armor protected him considerably, making him a walking stone beast. They were noticeably much more skilled than the rest of the fighters, and their aged battle scars and dented armor showed their deep experience and love for battle.

A sorceress was visible on a nearby cliff. However, her beauty was scarred with a horrifying gash across her face. A more frightening feature was that her once-smooth skin was slowly hardening, turning into scales and crystalyzing. Her breath curled and steamed, wisps of fire dispersing from her mouth. Her decision to follow the path of a devout Dragon Disciple was obviously working its effects. Her eyes squinted as she observed the field. She spot a cluster of enemy soldiers approaching their direction, and, grinning to show her fierce dragon's teeth while focusing her mind on them, she launched a huge fireball, with her left palm facing outwards in their direction. A few seconds later, a deafening explosion could be heard, followed by the searing heat mingled with the cries of people as those that were not instantly vaporized were thrown distances across the battlefield.

Two elves fought side-by-side as they fended off masses of swordsmen. Their allies were barely keeping up, reinforcements dwindling. The taller of the two elves wielded a sabre in one hand and a kukri in the other, and he seemed to dance among the blades and spears as he left behind a trail of pain and mayhem. His blades tasted blood repeatedly as they struck in gaps in the armor, in the unprotected areas of the soldiers. Those who thought themselves impenetrable found out their weaknesses, most often by having a limb or appendage severed by the elf's brisk kukri. The other elf wielded a light epee, but his red eyes gave away his true identity: he was a powerful psychic warrior. He created mayhem within the ranks of the soldiers by affecting their minds to turn them against each other, and paralyzing those who got close before decapitating them. Whenever a attacker got extremely close, he would thrust out his palm and send him flying.

From a higher vantage point, a man, dressed in a shining silver set of armor with a beautifully ornate sword hanging at his side, was watching the battle from a glass globe. A golden necklace hung from his neck, the intricate designs of an eagle grabbing a trident and a broken scythe etched onto its faceplate. His weary face glanced from the worried faces of his generals to his glass globe. Something caught his eye, and he focused on the scene: The Wargarth forces had brought an enormous rock ogre into the scene, standing 15 feet tall and powerfully built. As the monster began its rampage, the Daromin forces seemed to recede from the horrendous monster, fleeing from it's crushing blows. However, a lone figure remained. The ogre came to a stop, and squinted at the figure. Standing only 3'10" and holding an enormous war hammer, the dwarven fighter stood unmoving. He was clad in a dull-grey suit of armor, an eagle holding a trident and a broken scythe visible on the breastplate. He was of a stocky build, and his fluidity of motion even with so much armor proved his strength. The feature that set him apart was his brilliantly shining armlets, which seemed to glow with a radiant aura. The ogre, never having been opposed in this way before, had trouble processing in his mind the dwarf's apparent resistance, and, finally thinking out that this dwarf stood no chance against him, the ogre let out a fierce roar and charged the dwarf. The dwarf heaved his hammer, and chanted a few words. His hammer seemed to jerk alive, and his armlets and hammer started to sparkle madly in unison. The dwarf furrowed his brow, and swung the war hammer around twice before letting it go, aimed directly at the rock ogre. The ogre, clumsily charging the dwarf, tried to dodge the incoming hammer, but failed miserably as the hammer struck him in the upper left shoulder. A blinding explosion caused everyone within range to momentarily stop fighting and cover their eyes. Rock shards flew everywhere as the upper body of the rock ogre completely shattered. The remains, now lifeless, first dropped to its knees before the midsection, or what was left of it, landed with a thud. The hammer had mystically reappeared right next to the dwarven fighter, who heaved it back onto his shoulder. The fighting resumed, the rock pile forgotten and ignored. The cries of war harmonized once more.


	2. Tidings from the Front

Yea... School mid-terms killed me, and a bunch of other stuff got in the way. Sorry it took so long for this chapter. Well, back to the story.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The doors slammed open as a messenger arrived. Bowing to the figure sitting on the seat at the end, he hurriedly placed a sealed piece of parchment on the floor at the feet of the throne before hurrying out. The king held his breath as a guard brought him the parchment. He broke the seal, and stared at a blank sheet of parchment. He bit his lips as he brought the signet ring on his left ring finger to his mouth. He glanced at the family crest engraved onto the ring, a eagle holding a trident and broken scythe, and gently blew on the ring. The ring flickered from it's gold color to a brilliant white as the king waved his ringed finger over the parchment. Words magically appeared, and the king leaned back against his stone cold headrest, shivering slightly. The guards' eyes watched him nervously, looking to see if the message contained good or bad news. He nervously began to read.

* * *

Dearest father, I must be abrupt and quick in this message. First and foremost, I am truly sorry for having made you worry about me. The past few days have been chaotic and unruly, and being constantly on the march and in battle, I found too little time to write you. You are aware that we were expecting a great battle against the commander Virsha of the forces of Wargath at the forts of Garunon. However, we played right into their trap, and, just as our forces were arriving at the forts of Garunon, we received a messenger from Antareth, 45 miles away, who brought us the ill news that they were being attacked. With the knowledge that our kingdom's best wizard, Adramer, not to mention your best friend, resided there, we immediately deployed our best troops, and I set off with them, knowing the importance of the city. 

After traveling with the greatest haste, we entered into combat against the Wargath forces on the vast plains of Antareth. We fought day after day, and "devastation" could not come close to describe what I saw on the plains. Do not worry. As cowardly as it may sound, I knew it was in the kingdom's best interest for me to stay out of harm's way, but you know my passion for war, father. My divine battleaxe was shattered as I slew a sorcerer, who, with his last words, laid his hands upon my axe and shattered it. My shield was also destroyed as I took the full blow from an ogre's warhammer. Adramer was less fortunate. As I fought besides him with a greatsword, a glowing psion walked over to us. Even with his mental powers, Adramer crumpled like paper. As the psion was focusing on destroying his mind, I slew him quickly, but it was too late. Adramer had lost his mind. He jumped up screaming, and, his hands spewing raw arcane powers everywhere, instantly melting all that they touched, threw himself into the thickest of the battle. I never saw him again. As our forces continued to fight, I watched the carnage, father. As I looked over the battlefields, the lust for blood, the almost demonic rage, the love of battle, the realization hit me. Until we find out how and why Wargath is becoming so powerful, we will perish soon.

As the troops returned, I kept my eyes out for the exceptional fighters I had seen. Many of them were mercenaries that we had picked up at Garunon. I gathered them after they had rested, and choosing the best of them, I gave them a mission. Father, I know you gave me a direct order when I left to strictly hold the borders and never do anything that would provoke Wargath. However, I believe the time has come when we must take action. I sent a mercenary crew, along with my trusted dwarven friend, Barkar, son of Borovan, as a leader, to investigate Wargath and their doings.

I'm sorry I neglected your commands, father. I realize the importance of not bringing the wrath of Wargath upon ourselves, but something must be done. Please do not be angered, or worry for my safety. I will stay here at Antareth, and continue to guard the borders.

As angered as you may be, I have two requests. First, please ask my uncle to forge me a new battleaxe and shield, and have it delivered to me as soon as divinely possible. Also, please send my best friend, Darin, and his elite cavalry to aid us. I need his insight and wisdom in some matters at hand, and his assistance would be greatly appreciated.

I hope you are doing well, father. Your health and well-being is my first concern. I will continue to serve you and you kingdom, Daromin, to the best of my duties.

With the greatest of love and respect, signed,

Thartin, son of Thorban, servant of Daromin

* * *

King Thorban put the letter down, the letters magically vanishing, and covered his face with his hands. The guards, confused, gave each other quizzical looks while glancing nervous glances to the king. Was the news good? Was the news bad? They straightened to attention as the King Thorban looked up. 

In a shaky voice, he ordered, "Go to the forges, and tell my brother we need another weapon for my son." Two guards swiftly left. He then said, "Bring me Darin immediately. I need to talk with him. The rest of you are dismissed." All the guards left. The king, in the privacy of his throne room, vast and beautifully decorated, surrounded by beauty and décor, the family crest, the eagle, decorated everywhere, was in anguish. He knew he had to stop his son from provoking Wargath before it was too late. And he would use his son's best friend to bring him in. He was turning his son's best friend against him, and neglecting his son's desires to help the kingdom in every way. The guilt in his heart crushed him. He straightened as the doors opened and took a deep breath as Darin walked in. He knew he must place his words wisely. Friendship is stronger than death, and destroying that bond would prove to be a difficult challenge.


End file.
